


Of Cats, Whispers and Wolves

by mala_ptica



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Married Couple, Oathkeepers Secret Santa, Winter Wonderland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mala_ptica/pseuds/mala_ptica
Summary: After the victory of the Living during the Long Night, the kingdom finally begins to heal. Brienne and her blushing bridegroom have some loose ends to tie up regarding conflicting vows. Things come to a head when she and Jaime accompany Arya and Jon on a mysterious quest in the middle of winter. Sweet with bitters.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56
Collections: Oathkeepers Secret Santa 2019





	Of Cats, Whispers and Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [needlehearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/needlehearts/gifts).



> This is a Secret Santa gift for billy the kid who requested Starks, fantasy, romance, friendship, and Jaime/Brienne. I hope you like it! Happy Holidays and HAPPY HANUKKAH!!!
> 
> massive thank you to **[trulily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulily/works)** and **[neverwithaknight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverwithaknight/profile)** for beta :) I went back and made changes after they read through it, so any mistakes are mine not theirs
> 
> Trigger warning: there's brief discussion of possible miscarriage in this fic. It is implied everything is fine but I don't want you walking in blind.

A rumbling sounded in the sky, but she almost did not notice for at the same time, her stomach grumbled angrily. Not for the first time that morning she wondered, with the hazy confusion of inadequate sleep, whether it was the babe or her breakfast. Maybe both. Her horse made an admirable effort at fighting the ice wind cutting across their path, but the long Winter was wearing on horse and rider both. She found herself daydreaming of crawling back into bed with a mug of hot honeyed water and ordering her husband to rub her temples. She could send her new squire Warrick to fetch them bread and rabbit stew.

“I said, Ser Brienne, what do you think?” 

She turned, realizing belatedly she had been spoken to.

“Of what?”

“The song, obviously,” Jaime rolled his eyes.

“It’s…a song?” She hadn’t noticed it. “How he can sing in this cold, that’s the mystery.”

He huffed, unamused. A bit of soft snow kicked up as Jaime’s horse sped ahead, its rider seeking more amiable company. She knew she should let it pass; he had his moods just as often as her, if not more, and she was the pregnant one. Still, she nudged her horse to catch up with him.

“I’m sorry I am not more amusing,” she called ahead, and he slowed down to wait for her. “If it cheers you, I enjoy these trips even less than you.”

“It would cheer me if we knew why your lady insists on making these aimless quests so frequently,” he grunted, and she hung her head, but did not disagree. This was Arya’s third such quest in as many months, and whenever Arya ventured on an expedition into the country, Brienne felt compelled by honor to follow. The wars had left a tide of broken men to rove the kingdoms and disrupt the peace; it was hardly safe for anyone to travel alone.

“She knows that just last moon, a train carrying Targaryen banners was attacked, does she not? If the crown is not safe, surely a pup like her isn't,” Jaime sniped, keeping his voice low. She glanced behind her to see how closely her squire followed, making sure he could not hear. 

“Mayhap she will find what she seeks soon,” Brienne offered, but she did not feel hopeful.

“You’ll be too big to ride, soon,” Jaime said, reaching out to pat her belly, hidden under furs and leather.

“Nonsense, I can manage,” she pushed his hand away.

“We’ll have to get a bigger horse or put poor Rainbow out of his misery,” Jaime teased, “You were already a giantess before, now you’re as big as a castle.”

She scowled at him for that, but it only made him smirk.

The real argument was not about the horse at all, anyway. Rainbow was a warhorse and had carried Brienne in full armor and mail. Jaime did not like Brienne going out and doing her duty while she was carrying his child, but if she stayed home and knit by the fire while her lady was being cut down by brigands, she would die of grief. It was an argument without end.

“Perhaps I will find a sweeter husband who is more kind to me,” she countered, lifting her chin. “One who knows how to hold his tongue and act like a proper lord.”

Jaime laughed at that, deep and sultry.

“Such a man could not please you, my lady,” he promised, putting his hand on her leg and whispering against her ear. “You would be so bored you would kill him in a fortnight.”

“You don’t know that,” she shivered, looking intently at the trees.

“We could turn back now, leave the train for the night. They don’t need us, and it’s warm back at the inn,” he promised, and she breath caught in her throat.

The moment was ruined however by another bout of nausea, this followed swiftly by sick. Jaime rubbed her back and barked at Warrick to fetch some herbs and water. A horn sounded, signaling that the Prince wanted his men by his side for council. She grimaced, knowing it meant that Jaime would have to leave.

“I don’t have to go,” Jaime started, but she swatted at his hand.

“You do, I’ll be fine.”

With a pained look, he kissed her hand, and kicked his horse, calling over his shoulder that he would be back quickly. For a moment, she was left alone, focusing on her breathing to quell her illness. She could not wait for this part of pregnancy to be over. Perhaps she would not have more than a few children - she could not imagine being incapacitated like this for long spans of time again.

“Here.” A fist was thrust under her nose, disrupting her thoughts. Confused, she blinked and looked to her side.

“My lady?”

“Stop calling me that, I told you,” Arya Stark - no, Baratheon - sighed, and shook her fist as though Brienne had not seen it. “Mint. You’re supposed to chew it. Helps with the sickness.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Brienne held out her palm, and Arya dropped the tiny pouch into it.

A wry smile out of the corner of her eye told her that Arya understood the refusal to ignore her request for first name basis was, on part, a tease. Using her teeth since her gloves were too thick to allow for more nimble work, Brienne held the strings and pulled the mouth of the pouch open. She worked out a few soft leaves, bit down and drew them out, then handed the pouch back to her liege lady. Though the mint did not have enough time to start working, the gesture alone calmed her a bit.

“How did you know?”

“Mother had sickness with Rickon, it would help her.”

Brienne absorbed this in silence. “I was the last child, I did not get to learn from my mother how to handle…” she gestured at herself vaguely, “this.”

Arya nodded, as though she understood. She had more siblings survive infancy than most, though.

“I’m going to convince Gendry to let us foster,” Arya wrinkled her nose, “I refuse to be pregnant. Men should carry babes if they want them so much.”

Brienne laughed at that. “I wish we could make them,” she agreed, “It would at least spare us wars about succession.”

She thought briefly of her own husband’s role in such wars but pushed the thought away.

“Do you know where the wolves are taking us, my lady?”

Arya shook her head. She and the prince had received some sort of message from their beastly companions in dreams or something. Brienne tried to pretend to understand how warging worked, but she could not truly wrap her head around it. In her heart, she felt almost traitorous watching the Old Gods at work; whenever she saw the Starks commune with their beasts, a feeling of indescribable awe swept over her. The gods were more complicated and vaster than humans made of them, she knew. Brienne whispered a quick prayer to the Crone to help her understand.

They rode in amiable silence for a bit. She had spent more time in Arya’s company since the Long Night. It was not the life she had expected, but that was a good thing. Brienne often had expected to die far from Tarth, alone and unloved in total obscurity, and if she were fortunate, doing something to protect one of Lady Catelyn’s daughters. Now both daughters lived and thrived, and she was a companion of the younger.

“Does Gendry bother you for children, my lady?” Brienne asked quietly, knowing it was not entirely her place, but daring to venture for a bit of closeness. She wanted to have female friends, and Arya’s kindness made her hope.

“Not openly, but he thinks he’s being sly when he points to you and Lannister and says it’s so smart to start right away, like you did.”

A blush crossed Brienne’s face, and she turned her face, pretending to look for something.

“I don’t understand, we have our whole lives ahead of each other, and he’s lucky I didn’t just run off and become an adventurer.”

“You would miss your family,” said Brienne.

“I would miss Jon,” Arya retorted.

“And Bran and Sansa.”

Arya sighed.

“Sansa says Bran’s actually courting a maid from one of our vassal houses. Well, no,” she frowned, “Sansa says that the maid is courting Bran.”

“Surely that’s a good thing, my lady?”

“I don’t know, I think love makes people act like fools. You’re a reasonable person and you married Lannister,” Arya scowled.

Brienne forced a smile but did not feel it reach her eyes. She did not think her husband and her ward would ever be friends, considering their family history, but she had hoped that they would come to respect each other someday. She kept her counsel on this matter, though, for the time being.

“I don’t like things changing. I don’t like everyone marrying and moving on,” Arya confessed, and Brienne felt an ache of compassion for her.

“But you wed, did you not?” Brienne asked gently, not wanting to pick a fight.

“That’s different, Gendry was my family when my family couldn’t be around.”

“And you think this maid can’t be that for Bran?”

Arya huffed. “It’s not Bran, he’ll never leave Winterfell, it’s Jon. Don’t tell anyone this, but I don’t want him to forget he’s a Stark.”

Brienne glanced ahead at the banners snapping in the wind. Crimson dotted the trails going up the mountain, with black dragons or golden lions mingling as they fought nature. Despite Arya’s and Gendry’s presences, there were not many silver wolves or ebon stags about.

“I don’t think he will,” Brienne offered carefully. “He may wear his aunt’s colors as her heir apparent, but when the Others came, who was it he stood by on the walls of Winterfell?”

Arya looked down, remembering the battle well. “It was his home, and we were all there. She was flying her dragons, of course he would be by us instead.”

“But he didn’t ride the dragons with his aunt,” Brienne pressed, “He chose to stand with his sister.” It was a tactical decision that had outraged many at the time, but Brienne did not need to remind Arya of that.

Arya was quiet a while. Brienne wondered if she had said too much, arguing with her. She meant well, but perhaps she had crossed a line. She tried again, hoping it was the right choice, “My lady, when Lord Gendry asked for your hand in marriage, do you recall what the Prince did?”

Arya shook her head. “Gendry and I ran off to the Godswood and eloped so no one could stop us. I was sick of people telling me what to do.”

Brienne nodded. “True, but you were not alone or unwatched.”

“We were followed?” Arya looked up sharply from her reins. “Are you saying Jon had someone spying on me? Was it Bran? I’ll kill him.”

“No! That’s not it at all, the Prince was …well I suppose…someone overheard and told him. You were in the Great Hall after all, it wasn’t private.”

“Someone told him means someone was spying.”

Brienne huffed. “Take it up with him, my lady, my point is he knew, and he did not stop you. He could have, as your older brother, as a legitimized Stark and Targaryen, since Queen Daenerys had not issued the Marriage Decree yet.”

“Maybe Jon didn’t care,” Arya interjected dryly. 

“Or maybe he wanted your happiness. To be frank, my lady, he had just lost most of his men in several battles and he had two sisters he could sell into marriage in exchange for soldiers.”

“Jon would not do that.”

“No, but many men would, and Jon let you run away with a bastard who hadn’t been legitimized yet and did not question your choice.”

“You’re assuming.”

“He got my husband drunk drinking to your happiness,” Brienne countered. Jaime saw the chance to serve their newly anointed Targaryen prince as a chance to redeem himself to Rhaegar’s memory, and Jon cherished the chance of talking to someone who knew his father. Now the two were practically bosom buddies. “Jaime wanted me to nurse his headache the next morning, and I dragged him into the snow instead.”

A smile curved over the smaller woman’s lips. “I remember hearing something like a werecat yowling that morning. That’s almost cruel.”

Brienne allowed herself a small smile as well. “Your brother loves you, my lady, and if he did not, he would not spend so much time bragging about you behind your back. I think he is half jealous you wed a master blacksmith because now he cannot dazzle you with gifts of steel that you could not have your husband make you himself.” She paused. “And then there’s the wolves.”

Something passed over Arya’s face which Brienne could not interpret, and the two passed back into silence. She hoped they would find whatever it was they were questing for in the woods. These missions were becoming more and more frequent. Brienne wanted to know what these journeys were for, as they were expensive and dangerous, but she held her tongue, afraid of being impertinent. She trusted in Lady Arya and Prince Jon, as much as she trusted anyone, but she did not understand them sometimes, nor their animals.

The wolves had been a surprising boon to their party, for they scared off most would be attackers. Unfortunately, they scared the men and horses in their own party, too. Jaime already whispered to her at night how their howling bothered him. She had called him a scared-y cat and he scowled and turned his back on her until she stopped laughing. But when she saw him flinch as Ghost went past the next day, the blood of a fresh kill staining his white fur, the joke was no longer amusing. Memory hit sharply. She had always been a guest in Stark camps; he had not. She had not been the one lashed to a pole in Robb Stark’s camp, with a wolf snapping its jaws at him. 

As if summoned by her thoughts of him, her husband appeared by her side again, the bells on his bridle jingling merrily. Arya nodded to Brienne, then took off. Her eldest brother may have become fond of Jaime, but Arya held no such affection.

Brienne watched the shorter girl weave her palfrey among the train and soon disappear into the crowd. Jaime smiled at Brienne like a child with a secret, and she glared at him, suspicious. Humming a tune she half remembered, he raised his hand over her head, dangling a green sprig of leaves.

“Is that to eat?” She asked, confused. She was decent at foraging, she had to be, but she did not recognize the plant.

“Hardly, it would make you ill,” he smiled, then frowned. “Do you really not recognize it?”

“Enlighten me.”

“It’s mistletoe.” He raised his arm and shook it above her. He had replaced his golden hand with a wooden one, as the metal kept freezing and sticking to his skin in the winter. He had still had it painted with gold leaf, however, and the ungloved appendage glinted in the light above her. She put up a hand to shield her eyes dramatically.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” he leaned in, and she pulled him closer when he kissed her. She was glad of the mint she had chewed earlier. His lips were lightly chapped, his breath warm, and his beard tickled. But the spontaneity was sweet. She smiled into the kiss and brought a gloved hand up to cup his neck. The horses, however, were not so fond of the closeness of their riders, and without warning, hers bolted underneath her.

“It’s not kind to make an old cripple chase you, wench!” Jaime called, and she turned her neck to look at him. He was beautiful in the sunlight, with golden curls falling over wind-pink cheeks and lips wet from kissing. She knew she was red from blushing, and her face ached from smiling, even though she did not feel pretty when she did. She was starting to care less, though.

“Who said I was kind?” she called, riding into the falling snow, and laughing as she heard the bells of his bridle jingle as he picked up pace behind her. She would let him catch her, eventually. She was not cruel.

She clucked and slowed her horse to a canter, waiting as Jaime’s mount galloped up behind them. She feigned misery as he swooped up and brought his arm around her waist, crowing about having caught her. She tapped her hand on his chest in faux anger but gave up and laughed as he tickled her neck with kisses.

“My lord, we’re in public,” she protested in the voice she used to scold her squire.

“My lady, I’m hurt you would deny me! Such a small token of our love,” he replied, doing his best impression of a wounded deer.

She could not keep up the act. She laughed. “You’re so dramatic! You should have been born to a Mummer’s family, not a noble’s.”

He pouted. “Now you mock me. How can you be so cruel?”

“If you want someone to kiss in public, you should bring that kitten you love so much,”

“His name is Aegon and he is a conqueror,” Jaime said, all mock offense. “And it’s true, at least someone loves me.”

She leaned over and gave him a quick smack on the lips, patting his cheek fondly as he looked at her with surprise. “Are you satisfied, my lord?”

“Never, my love,” he said earnestly. Somewhere nearby, she heard retching, but chose to ignore it. Instead, she and Jaime teased each other for a bit, reveling as the train moved on. She nudged her horse faster when she realized she couldn’t see Arya’s banner. Jaime caught her panicked look and frowned.

"What is it?"

"Arya," she said, rising in her saddle to peer further in the distance. "I cannot see her banner."

He huffed. “You’re going to be hell when that babe is finally born.”

She did not look at him, busy peering up at the face of the mountain towering above. It was difficult to see through the increasingly fluffy snow and as the light had shifted, so she had to raise her hand to shield her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean because you hover over that girl like she’s still a child and not a grown, married woman, and you’ll have your own child to worry about. Do not go up the mountain today, Brienne. Leave it.”

Brienne huffed at that, biting her tongue so she did not say something she would regret. She hurried her horse to put distance between her and her husband. The train was bottlenecking as knights, squires, and others crowded at the base of the mountain, preparing to make the steep, narrow climb up its zigzagging trails. A few scouts had gone ahead, clearing the path, while a base camp was set up with the carts and things that would not travel well uphill. 

She scanned the men for her lady, wanting to stay close to her. Brienne refused to be left behind at base camp while Lady Arya and Prince Jon went up the mountain on this quest of theirs. Though Arya was hard to spot, being so short, Brienne used her height to peer over the other men until she spotted the woman. Lady Arya was standing close to the mountain wall, a few hundred yards from where the camp was being set up, and from the looks of it, busy arguing with her brother. They were stomping around in the snow.

Brienne dismounted, and tugged her horse in Lady Arya’s direction, wanting to stay a respectful distance but keep her in sight. Occasionally, the ground felt like it was slipping underneath her, and she would lose her footing, but she always righted herself. She made a note to have Warrick add more spikes to her boots for the ice. It was a good thing she had spotted Lady Arya, for shortly thereafter, something changed. The siblings mounted their rides, and sped off up a different mountain path, their wolves leading the way, to the east instead of the western route that the train was planning on.

It wasn’t unheard of for the siblings to go off like that on their own, and their men had orders to give them space, but it still made her uneasy. Besides, she wasn’t one of their men. Quietly, Brienne crept up to the mountain, and started on the same path. She heard a quiet rumbling, like the mountain itself was grumbling at having all these men preparing to creep on its face.

Out of nowhere, a Lannister squire tumbled into her, causing her knees to buckle. She grabbed onto her palfrey for balance, shaking the poor creature and causing it to whine. She caught the boy’s arm and yanked him to her as he tried to stand up and get away. The sound of thunder was growing louder, but it was probably just her blood. She looked him over, trying to recall his house from the green and silver design embroidered on his overtunic. “What are you doing?” she demanded, “I am your liege lady, you almost knocked me over!”

“Snowfall, milady, ser,” he stammered, and she shook him as if it would make him make sense.

All around her, horses were whining.

“Yes, I know the snow is falling, what do you mean?”

Breathless, he pointed above, still struggling to break free of her grip. Brienne looked up, and a gasp caught in her throat. Where before there had been gold, green, purple and black trees, as far as the eye could see, white started to fill her field of vision. Snow lifted rocks, trees and animals alike, sliding down the path like an ocean wave.  


Breath left her body, and distantly, she heard screaming. She dropped her hold on the squire, and absurdly, gripped Oathkeeper’s hilt, as though Valyrian steel could defend her against the mountain itself. With her last thoughts, she ran towards Arya, hoping to save her.

\---

Brienne did not know how long she was out. A moment, an hour? When she woke, head pounding, the sky was completely black, and the sounds of crying echoed off the mountain walls. Dimly, she realized that she was the one crying. She was half buried in snow and could barely feel her feet. She touched her face, which was tacky, and her left eyelid did not want to open. She looked around her, but all she saw was white.

Was she still at the bottom of the mountain? Where was Jaime? Where was Arya? Was anyone else trapped in the snow, or had they all been far enough away?

She wanted to, gods, she wanted to cry again, and she wanted to scream for Jaime. Would all that was left of her be her voice? Would future travelers tell stories of a beastly giant, sobbing and lonely? She took in a deep breath and tried not to panic.

She would not be found frozen in place; she would give herself the chance to find someone. The blood thrummed in her. With great effort, she twisted her body in the snow, and started working on wiggling herself out. Only her face was exposed, the rest of her buried in snow, rocks, ice and other debris. It was slow, excruciating work, and the cold numbed her limbs and made it harder to move. She had not felt her toes or fingers for a while.

Arya, Sansa, Jaime, Tarth…she could not abandon them. She recited the names as a prayer, to keep herself moving forward, to keep herself awake. Then, she sang to herself, to pass the time and calm her nerves, and sang to her babe. When she ran out of sweet songs she knew – which she did not know many of actually – she tried songs of heroes. Hopefully she would not run out before she had to turn to some of the bawdy songs Jaime preferred teasing her with.

When the sun crept up in the sky, she thought heard voices, like when she was at the Whispers. With a last gasp of effort, she freed her arm, but the victory was short lived, and shortly after, exhaustion consumed her, and her eyes fell closed.

She awoke to a grotesque feeling, a soft wet tongue on her face. She tried to cringe and pull away out of instinct, but her face was half frozen, and she was bone tired.

“Get off her, Nymeria.”

Painfully, Brienne tried to open her eyes. 

Like the Maiden herself, Arya stood over her, lit by a halo of sun behind her. At the girl – no, woman’s – knees, her giant direwolf nuzzled and whined for attention.

“You’re alive, thank the gods. Nymeria wanted to eat you.”

Jaime would skin the beast alive if she did that, Brienne thought, but did not say. Arya was probably joking. The wolf sniffed Brienne’s bloody eye and licked its lips. Hopefully joking.  
Arya turned, and shouted over her shoulder. “I found her! Help me pull her out!”

“Lady Arya, you’re alive,” Brienne sighed, her voice brittle with exhaustion. 

“Yes, I’m fine, you’re the one who needs to stop scaring everyone,” admonished Arya sharply, though as Brienne looked into her face, she saw tenderness writ there. “You were too close to the mountain, the avalanche got you. A few other men and horses weren’t so lucky, or maybe Nymeria didn’t like them as much.”

She heard, rather than saw, the men who came to help. It felt like it took ages before she was pulled from the snow, boneless, into the crimson clad arms of her lord. She felt like a stone.

They made camp for the night, with Jaime and Brienne having a brazier inside their tent for her to warm up next to. She did not fight as he tended to her, divesting her of her snow-caked garments and replacing them with dry furs that had been warming near the fire. The maester came shortly, pinching her skin and clucking, but she did not hear him. She fell asleep, dimly aware of him talking to Jaime. She briefly woke in the middle of the night, and blinking, saw Jaime crouched by her side. Noticing her movement, he clutched her hand and covered it with kisses, but she fell back asleep.

The next day, they were visited in their tent by Lady Arya and Prince Jon, who wanted to check on Brienne’s recovery. She did not feel up to having visitors, but tried to stand, for their sake, although this just resulted in her being coddled and fussed over by her husband. She gave up, certain that she was bound to become a distraction.

“My lady. Your grace,” Brienne started, pausing to collect her words. “I hope I do not intrude, but I have to know, if I am to continue in this quest – what is the purpose and what do you seek?” She was afraid she was overstepping, but she was losing faith in these missions.

Jon and Arya shared a look, as though having a private conversation through thought alone.

“It’s complicated, it involves…well, you see there’s these stories...” Jon began, and Arya rolled her eyes.

“It’s not complicated," Arya snapped. "We’re trying to make peace with The Children of the Forest. Our ancestors wronged them or something, so, it’s on us. If we don't, bad things will come, or something, Bran says."

"I'm sorry," Jaime spoke first, in his smooth Lord of Lannister tones he reserved for dispensing discipline on soldiers. "The Children of the Forest. You mean the creatures from legends?"

"Yes, obviously, catch up," Arya sighed, crossing her legs.

Jon looked at his sister, and rubbed his neck. “Like I said, it’s complicated. It’s…hard to believe.”

“We’ve dealt with the Others and dragons and priestesses who can raise the dead," Brienne continued as evenly as she could, "Jaime killed an ice spider that had crawled into my chamber at Winterfell,"

"Two, and I thought it was that redheaded brute trying his luck again," her husband interjected.

"And it was I who wounded the ice dragon so that you could finally slay it, your Grace," Brienne continued, not acknowledging the interruption. Her voice was small when she spoke next, "We will believe more than you think."

Jon rubbed his mouth, and Arya started to look intently at the embroidery on the tent flaps, as though she had ever cared about needlepoint.

"Why can a messenger not be sent? That's their jobs. Messengers. It's in the name," Jaime narrowed his eyes. “A whole royal delegation? In this season? It’s a huge expense.”

"They only want to meet with members of the Stark family, and it has been a long negotiating process and they enjoy humiliating us by making us come to them," Arya explained, clearly annoyed, though with the Lannisters or the Children of the Forest, Brienne could not tell.

With a weak laugh, Jon spoke up, "They talk to us through the wolves, or Bran. It must be secret from our vassals. some people do not believe that the ancient Starks committed any crimes and take offense at the suggestion. We tell our men we're following fairytales; they'll think I've come down with Targaryen madness."

Neither Brienne nor Jaime spoke.

“But surely you see the problem in asking people to follow without explaining your purpose,” Jaime ground out, and she put her hand on his arm, but he ignored her. “You’re hardly the first Targaryen to hear voices. Your people at least have a right to know if they’re being led in circles.”

“We were just hoping it would make no difference. But then…the avalanche…”

Brienne tensed up. “What about the avalanche?”

Arya crossed her arms, “They gave us a last second message to meet them, so we had to run. Only they didn’t like that we were bringing so many men up the mountain to meet them, so they caused an avalanche. So, Jon and I got out of the way.”

Brienne felt a strange heat creeping up her shoulders and the back of her neck, and Jaime's hand squeezed her shoulder.

“So, you realized they were causing the avalanche before it happened?” Jaime asked, his voice quiet.

"It happened too quickly to warn anyone,” Jon spoke, spreading his hands and leaning forward in his chair, "We barely had time to get to safety. And how would we explain it?"

"Of course! I understand," Jaime laughed, and Brienne went still in her seat. He sounded almost friendly as he continued, "You only had a moment. You didn't have enough time to warn your sworn sword, the one who pledged her life to you and who is here tramping after you in the snow while pregnant. She could be home at her keep or mine, but instead she's following you on your stupid personal quests!"

“You make it sound like we purposefully endangered Brienne!” Arya shot back, jumping to her feet, “But we saved her!”

Brienne felt Jaime practically vibrate as he stood near her, so she grabbed his leg, stilling him before he could respond. Jaime covered his face with his hands and stalked to the back of the tent. She spoke softly, “You did save me, your lady, and thank you.” 

She nodded at her guests, "The point is, my lady, your Grace. Your men will believe more than you think. I understand you do not want to be judged, but if I had known you were receiving warnings, I could have...reacted differently."

Arya growled at that, but Jon shushed her, and bowed his head. “You’re right, you deserve better.”

The tent was silent for a moment.

“Thank you, your Grace…my lady,” Brienne finally broke the silence, “I hate to ask this, but my husband is tired from taking care of me, and he needs his rest.”

She heard Jaime scoff at that and hoped that the Prince and his sister would ignore it. But in truth, she was also feeling tired.

Jon and Arya left shortly after, making their awkward goodbyes and wishes for Brienne’s full recovery. As soon as they were gone, Brienne crawled out of the chair and into the bed. Jaime was at her side instantly to help her maneuver her stiff joints, still half frozen, and she collapsed into his arms.

She sat cocooned between his legs while he fed her soup, pausing every now and then to kiss her hair and hands, and rub her arms and legs. She felt herself start to cry, though she could not understand why.

He put the bowl aside and stroked her cheeks, rocking her back and forth. It came out then. She talked about her fears when she was alone, her thoughts she might not survive, her fears for the babe, that she may never see him again, or see Tarth in Spring…

If Jaime were disturbed, he did well not to show it, which somehow made her cry harder. He was silent, and she was overwhelmed by his kindness as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’ll tell you one thing, wench,” he said, interrupting a lull.

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, then rubbed her nose into her shirt.

“They’re going to have to find a different way to talk to their forest spirits, because this is madness.”

She barked a laugh at that, the ugly laugh she was so ashamed of, and Jaime kissed her cheek for it. She did not know why.

“Maybe so, I don’t want this to happen again,” she confessed, lacing her fingers through those of his left hand. In the distance, Nymeria and Ghost howled, celebrating a kill. She shivered, and felt ashamed, since they had helped her.

Jaime grew quiet, and it bothered her.

“What is it?” she asked, elbowing him softly.

“Nothing, you just focus on warming up,” he said, and rubbed her hands between his. She knew it was more than that, but she did not have the strength to fight.

“Maybe we should reach out to beast traders from Essos, see if anyone can find us a lion cub or two to repopulate the Rock,” he said.

She snorted. “Only if you and your brother keep it far from my child,”

“Our child will be a lion of the rock, they should bond,” he protested, feigning offense.

“Our infant will not have teeth and claws to defend herself,” Brienne countered.

Jaime shrugged. “You’ll train them to use a knife before they’re walking.”

She did not disagree with that, but she was too tired to keep up the banter.

Later, when they lay huddled together to sleep, she felt his breath against her skin. Quiet as a mouse, he whispered so low she thought maybe he did not intend for her to hear, “I can’t follow each of my vows.”

When day finally came, she found she was still wrapped in Jaime’s arms. She did not want to leave, for anything. Her thoughts went to the past few days, and Arya.

Brienne might not have survived, and Arya had been fine.

More than fine; Arya had saved her, not the other way around.

And Arya’s missions would not stop, and it was increasingly, embarrassingly obvious that Brienne could not follow. The maester said she had a good chance at recovery, but it was important to get her back to King’s Landing and out of the camp soon. She watched the camp from the opening in the tent, distant from the hustle and bustle of other men and their quests.

Sniffling against Jaime’s shirt, Brienne admitted to herself that she did not want to follow. And a dead knight was not going to help anyone. She would have to make apologies to Lady Arya and the Prince when she felt better, but she worried that Jaime’s friendship with the Prince had been damaged.

Jaime, when he awoke, must not have realized she had been near tears, for his mood was bright and did not falter. He pulled the fur around her shoulders and yawned. “I’ll get us some food.”

“You’re warm,” she protested, hating the thought of him wandering away. He really was warm, though, that was part of it.

Jaime laughed at that, “I won’t be warm if I starve,” he tapped her nose, and she frowned.

“Send Warrick, he can be useful,” she grunted.

“Fine,” Jaime sighed, “but you have to let me out of bed to find that lazy squire of yours. You must eat, I won’t have a thin wife.”

She mewled in protest as he pulled away, but he was not swayed. She pursed her lips and squinted at his absence, but the action just made him laugh. He ducked his head out of the tent to talk to a guard, and she buried her face in the pillow, inhaling his scent. 

Within no time, her terrified squire arrived carrying obscene amounts of food. After depositing the loot, the boy scampered away, leaving her alone with her husband.

Jaime gathered her up in his arms, making her yelp, and pulled her into his lap. She did not resist, though she wondered how his legs were doing under her weight – he had complained when she had tried to sit there before.

She reached for a piece of bread, and huffed, “Stop terrorizing poor Warrick, you’ll scare him off.”

“I’m not the one he fears,” Jaime countered, undeterred. “You’re meaner to him because you miss Pod.”

She ignored him.

“How do we even have fresh bread in a camp in the woods?” she asked, marveling over the warm roll between her hands, before breaking off a piece to taste. 

“Hush and let me spoil you, wife,” he growled, and she smirked, despite herself. The bread was sweet, and soft against her tongue. 

“Where would we keep a lion cub?” she asked softly, once her hunger pangs started to subside a bit.

He pressed his lips together for a moment and furrowed his brow. “You know, there were cages in the bowels of the Rock, but those lions looked…sick.”

“Cages will do that,” she said quietly.

In answer, he took a sip of wine.

“Everyone,” he said at last, “fears a lion they cannot tame.”

She paused. “Can a lion be tamed?”

He did not answer immediately but rubbed little circles over her spine. “I have been, as much as any can be.”

She snorted at that. “You’re not tame.”

“No,” he laughed, the sound coming from deep in his belly, vibrating against her. “And neither are you, my lioness.”

He kissed her forehead, and she shivered.

“I cannot go on another mission like this until the babe is born,” she whispered, “I may have lost it…” her eyes prickled, and she clamped down her teeth, swallowing the tears that threatened to crawl out.

“We don’t know that, the maester said you would be fine with rest,” he hissed, grasping at her side, but it only made her feel worse.

“I made a vow. If I were to give that up, I would not be true,”

“No, you would not be my Brienne,” he said, brushing the wild strands of mussed up hair around her ear. “But you have made other vows.”

“I have,” she spoke so quietly she was not sure he could hear it.

Jaime continued, “I cannot lose you. Either to death or by forcing you to give up your vows. But this cannot go on. The girl has her quest, and you need to take care of yourself. We have to find a compromise.”

She nodded, burying her face in his neck briefly, and let herself inhale his scent as a comfort. After a while, she came up for air, and slid off his legs to fit herself against his side. He pulled a pin from the desk and stuck it through the furs around her, to keep it closed tight, then wrapped his arm around her while she leaned against him. He began to talk about business matters and coin, and some young lordling he hoped to introduce to Ser Loras.

She let herself dose against Jaime’s shoulder, while he rambled on about the mismanagement of the supply train. As the snow fell outside, she could hear the faint strains of a love ballad while the bard plied his wares.

**Author's Note:**

> title is a a play on "Of Moons, Birds and Monsters" from the album Oracular Spectacular by MGMT. Recommended song pairing with this fic is "Kids" from the same album (suggested version: [Live at Glastonbury, 2014](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrskHYRfC0c)).


End file.
